Brink
by Sayble
Summary: "When your back is against the wall, the only thing you can do is fight."
1. Chapter 1

"Stay strong, it won't be long now."

A slow nod is my response, I feel... lightheaded.

...I feel weak.

Through the metal cages we are kept in, I only have a limited view of the prison, yet I drink in every square inch of this forsaken hellhole.

How long as it been? Weeks? Months...?

...**_Years?_**

It's all meaningless, time is irrelevant in here, I feel like this cage is all I've ever known.

A grunt, Geralt is at it again. The metal rebar doesn't budge as he kicks away at the the cell walls. Only a dull thunk in response.

My fur has all but blackened from the dark magic, and teal lines could be seen where the flesh had been branded, the Yordle fur scorched off in those Noxian

"searings": Runic experiments that had been practiced upon the inmates.

Not all of them survived this ordeal, but I stayed strong, fueled by nothing but a desire to live, to see another day, grim it may be.

More screaming is heard down the hall.

I wish I could have said goodbye to my loved one's before I left on my journey...

Who knew it would be my last.

Even now, the thrashing and sreaming can be heard from down the prison halls, a constant reminder that we are all one step away from the same fate.

To live in fear, this is what it truly means, existence reduced to nothing but this cage.

To see the next meal, to live life by the second, by the moment.

Then silence, the screaming is over, replaced by my own steady breathing in the darkness.

My stomach aches, a dull pounding that never ceases to go away.

They hadn't given us a proper meal in weeks, reduced to nothing more then scrambling beggars when the guards tossed us leftovers every once in a blue moon.

Like animals.

No...something far less.

The hunger, the pain, the mind searing, the runic imprints that have tattooed themselves across my now barren and scarred chest...

To my left, Geralt warily backs away from the rebar, his daily exercise sated for the time being. None of us talk, I simply sit on the stone floor, awaiting our fate.

Geralt takes a spot besides me upon a wooden stool, more or less a makeshift piece of wood that he had propped up against the wall in order to avoid sitting on the filth that

covered our cell.

It's moist enough to condensate unto the ceiling and drip it's contents down on us like a sewer line.

Maybe it actually is, who knows.

I want to retch, but I know that no one would clean it, no one's cleaned this cell since I've been locked up here. I feel sick, the stench is revolting.

I want to cry, but I know my body doesn't have enough water to do so.

Bastards like to keep us half starved.

Geralt's hunched over outline in the darkness belies the strength of spirit in his heart, fingers set to work upon a small piece of ivory.

A souvenir from Bandle City.

He looks up from his ministrations, a weak smile plays across his lips.

His bloodshot eyes do little to reassure me.

Grim is more like it.

This is our last night together, alive.

Something we're are both dully aware of.

They told me the punishment for black magic is execution. I pleaded, **begged **to them to see reason, yet my words fell upon deaf ears.

They condemned me, and I was taken away.

I'm going to die here.

Tonight, tommorow, it doesn't matter anymore.

The tally marks on the wall, scratched into with a piece of rock are my only reassurance that time has actually passed.

365 tallies, the faint, yet visible lines are all I have left in retaining my sanity.

It's been a year.

But then again...

Time is meaningless at this point.

365 tallies ago I set off as an adventurer.

Yes. That's what I wanted.

A dull feeling in my stomach, it wasn't hunger.

That longing...I wanted to go out there.

I had spent so much time cooped up in Bandle city...

I obsessed over what lied beyond.

It was all I thought about. To go out **there.**

I never made it that far, of course

I was played. A naive adventurer like me.

Of course I was just another victim in this cruel world.

Yordles all heard the stories. In Bandle city, we were warned about this place, a cesspool of corruption, evil, and deceit. A place where darkness ruled, and

morality was just a word.

But when I heard there was a trade route leading to Noxus, I couldn't resist, and booked the next caravan as a trader.

Curse my curiosity. That insatiable thirst for **adventure**, the double edged sword that all Yordles are born with.

I remember a couple of bandits, the hiss of steel as they drew their swords.

Our client was nowhere to be seen.

It was a setup.

We were doomed to take the fall from the beginning.

It wasn't until they found the tomes in my satchel that I was sentenced to death for black magic.

Despite having no knowledge of this craft, Noxian customs saw me as a threat.

I was taken away, left to rot here.

Fingers drift to the scar on my chest, the serial code denoting my status as a prisoner.

6015. My fingers can feel the numbers carved into my chest like braille

I remember the brand as it scarred my chest, the panic in my eyes as I was chained to the table, sprawled out, facing the ceiling.

The red hot metal as it embedded itself into my fur.

I remember screaming, than blacking out, than screaming again.

And through it all, they never spoke.

Just a cold silence amidst the smell of burning fur and flesh.

Mine, among all else.

Someone lays a heavy hand on my shoulder.

I look up, broken from my temporary state of thought.

Save for the heavy scar that cuts along his left eye towards the right side of his neck, Geralt remains relatively unscathed, his golden mane turned a dirty gray from the

time we have spent under Noxian captivity.

Geralt's been here for as long as I have.

He never went into detail about what happened. It must have been bad.

The scars across his face give me the impression that he's seen and done things I wouldn't like to talk about, either.

It wasn't much, but he's all I have left, and whatever he's done, i'm willing to let slide in exchange for a friend.

**Among anything else, loneliness is what I fear most.**

We counted the days together, perhaps to oblivion, vowing that we would one day we would be free.

But that was over a year ago.

And we're very different people now.

Somewhere along the line of attempting to stay sane in these walls I had become jaded.

Gone were my aspirations, my lifelong dream of exploring this world, whatever lied beyond, I didn't care.

I was sick of it, I just wanted to survive.

Such a far off dream now, almost absurd.

Almost surreal...

"Veigar."

His voice snaps me out of my trance, I realize I had been staring.

I can see the concern etched unto his face, and quickly stand, despite my small stature not making much of a difference."

The effort blurs my vision.

"I'm fine." Yet anymore talk and I will have to lie down in the filth. My voice comes out as a raspy squeak.

His expression remains unchanging, clearly unconvinced.

"Rest, I'll keep watch now, you can sleep on the dry spot." His voice too is strained, but the searing had not damaged his vocal cords unlike my own.

A small price to pay for my life.

Abashed but too tired to avert my eyes, I simply nod and shuffle over.

Used to the rancid smell, I close my eyes and lie down upon the cold metal.

Maybe I won't wake up this time...

**Geralt POV**

I Know vigor alone won't be enough to escape this place.

Not all of us will make it, we're starved, tortured halfway out of our minds, some of these inmates haven't seen a glimpse of sunlight in decades.

But it's better then rotting here, forgotten, alone.

Anything is better then that.

As I take one last look at his sleeping form, almost serene, I feel a deep sense of regret welling up inside.

This isn't the first time I've left someone behind like this.

But he's a tough kid, I know he'll survive.

My breath fogs up the cold cell.

Part of me wants to take him along...

But he'll only slow me down.

And we're out of time.

It's time to move, now or never.

* * *

><p><strong>Veigar POV<strong>

"Get up"

I stir, but drowsiness keeps my eyes shut.

How long have I slept for?

"I said, GET UP!'

Abruptly, I'm grabbed by the scruff of my neck and violently thrown into the cell walls.

The impact jars my senses. My eyes fly wide open in shock, wildly scanning the cell.

Then I see them, my heart begins to beat faster.

The red and black sheen of Noxian plate armor.

What's going on? Why are there soldiers in my cell?

In the darkness, one of them calls out.

"He isn't here."

A gruff voice curses in response.

"Impossible, he can't have gone far, search the area, I want him dead or alive..."

The cold sensation of metal as i'm grabbed by two steel gauntlets and forcefully dragged to my feet, the frontal fabric of my ragged garments tearing in his grip.

I can smell the alcohol on his breath, my face mere inches from the Noxian soldier, his teeth grit in the dim lighting.

"Where is he, and don't play any games with us, we know you're in on this."

At first I have no idea what he's talking about, only the growing fear that these soldiers are about to do something really horrible to me.

That's when it hits me.

Geralt is nowhere to be seen.

It takes all the willpower I have to not panic.

I'm brought back to my predicament as a metal gauntlet strikes me across the face. The pain is blinding, I spit out a globule of crimson as I recoil in his grip.

'Answer me! Don't try to play innocent with us, we know you're in on this!" I can hear the anger in his voice, the other soldiers nervously pace around in the cell.

"Sir, we don't have much time, the other prisoners are quickly-"

"Shut it, Feyd! We have the situation under control, another word from you and i'm gutting you along with the rest of this lot."

"Y-yes sir."

It's clear that they're on edge, but from what?

He hits me again, this time in the gut. I double over, released from his iron vice, my small frame kneeling over the filth in my cell.

Through the corner of my eye, another soldier runs in, clearly out of breath.

"We have word from District C, it's a full on riot! the prisoners are revolting!"

My breath gets caught.

A riot?

What the hell is going on...?!

A pause, the news seems to only further their agitation.

Then after a couple seconds, he motions his men to step forward.

"We don't have time for anymore questions, get him out of the cell."

I hear the clank of metal as they briskly move in and grab me, legs barely finding the strength to stand.

My arms are wrenched behind my back and tied together with a thick binding of rope, the fabric cutting into my wrists as they did so.

I'm shoved out of the cell. I want to take a breath, but they hurriedly move me down the hallway. Looking around, the inmates eye me.

Row upon row of them.

They all look like they're expecting something...

But what?

A sharp pain as i'm struck on the back of my head.

"Eyes forward!"

I warily continue on, the guards escorting me from all sides.

Then the guards stop, i'm held in place by my surrounding escort.

This isn't right.

Why are we stopping?

I look around, we're still in the middle of the hallway, the inmates are watching me, yet no one says anything.

The entire block is dead silent, save for the dripping of sewage and my own heavy breathing.

It's faint at first, but I hear the ever growing sound of footsteps not too far ahead.

The Noxian sergeant mutters something akin to a curse under his breath.

"Damn...we're too late."

My escort seems to be bracing itself for something, none of them move, save for the slight anticipation of a battle that is yet to come.

Then the giant double doors at the end of the hallway begin to open.

With a loud groan, the rusted gears turn as the doors are slowly parted.

"Swords!" The hiss of steel as my escort draws their blades, the sheen of Noxian metal gleams in the dim lighting.

Slowly, the entrance opens itself. Inch by inch, the double doors part, until finally I can make out multiple silhouettes framed between the doorway.

Slowly, they walk out of the darkness, the guards around me have taken a battle formation, akin to a phalanx but with less people.

My heart stops, and I see him.

He's come back for me.

Geralt is accompanied by 6 or so inmates. They're all armed, swords and clubs at the ready.

No one makes the first move, Geralt stands in our path, barring our exit out of the block, his small stature belied by the 5 extremely burly men on both his flanks.

"We're here for the kid." His voice low. Blood stains his prison garment, and multiple cuts can be seen along his exposed arms and chest.

Dried blood can be seen on the hand and a half Noxian blade carried in his right arm.

He's been fighting.

**He's been killing.**

The Sergeant behind me barks a set of orders before moving up, blade at the ready.

"They're just prisoners! Don't give them a damn inch!"

All inmates are awake, and all eyes are on the conflict that is now quickly building in tension out on the prison hallway.

I realize that there's only 6 guards in this room.

It's an even fight, and if Geralt wins...

_We might have a clear shot of getting out of here._

**Geralt POV**

This is bad.

Why did I come back here just to take another unnecessary risk?

Did I really just come back for this kid?

No matter how hard I try, my damn conscience just gets the better of me.

There's 6 of em. I'd reckon they've had better training, and are better armed.

This is gonna be tougher than those prison guards we took out in the back.

These are actual Noxian soldiers.

No matter which way I cut it, we aren't coming out of this without casualties.

A sigh as I realize that coming back here was a stupid decision.

"Alright boys, you know the drill, let's snuff these bastards."

I begin my forward advance, men trailing closely behind, weapons bared, eyes set forward.

None of us are formally trained, but all of us have the street smarts that require you to survive in a place like this.

And that's why we're gonna win this fight.

As I close distance, the first soldier takes a step forward, blade drawn in a vertical slice. It doesn't come too fast, but the blade itself is probably thick enough to split

my skull wide open. My sword isn't as broad, but it's enough to intercept the blade and violently catch it with the cross guard, locking our swords as my men run in to engage

the rest of the group.

"I'm going to skin you alive, Yordle." I grit my teeth, breath fogging the crossed steel.

With a quick shunt, we both back off, circling one another in a slow counterclockwise fashion.

The dance of death has begun.

I get a quick glance at the red helmet. He's a sergeant, guy probably has some training. Doesn't look like I'll beat him in a straight up fight either.

Up close, he's a good foot taller than i am. Since i'm a Yordle, I don't have much in the way of reach, I have to somehow get past his defenses with an already short

sword.

We make a couple exchanges, I see his sword arc left, and I twist my torso to dodge it.

A little to late, as the damn thing catches on my abdomen as I try to maneuver past the swing.

I grit my teeth as the cold steel makes the slight pass, it hurts, but the blow was only slight.

I can't afford to make another mistake like that, however.

We close again, this time I opt for a more frontal approach. Bringing the blade perpendicular to his, i feint left as he tries to skewer me in my charge.

But i'm shorter than what he's probably used to, and he overshoots by a couple inches, the blade passing over my head as i close under his guard.

Skidding to a halt under his outstretched arms still in midswing, I bring both arms in a horizontal slash, the sweat on my palms almost causing me to lose grip of the hilt

as I bring the blade across his chest in a rightward swing.

What should have been a fatal wound is deflected by that Noxian plate, sparks flying from where I scratched him.

We both back off from that brief exchange. I see sweat beading on his exposed forehead, he lowers himself to adjust for my reduced size.

Damn. That was my chance, he isn't going to let me slip through again.

I lick my chapped lips as I realize this is going to have to be fought fair and square.

We circle for a bit before closing in once more.

I deflect the first swing as I close. It's not like I have a choice, he has the advantage of reach. I need to be at a range where my blade is effective.

He parries a quick stab, then another, I angle the blade towards his legs in order to throw him off, but he's quick on that as well and sweeps the forward leg back before

bringing his sword to my neck in a roundabout sweep.

I'm getting tired, we're underfed in this damn prison, soon he's going to beat me simply because he had dinner.

No, I can't lose.

Not here.

There's one thing I can try.

I make a forward charge, blade squared for his chest. He grins, and prepares himself for my charge.

As I close, I see him readying his own sword, abusing the reach he has in order to skewer me first.

But that isn't going to happen.

Inches before contact, I drop to my knees, losing even more height, sliding underneath his sword in a power slide.

His eyes widen as he realizes my plan.

But it's too late.

My blade is angled straight into his lower abdomen, the link in which the plate cuts off for the leather waste band.

The only real exposed part that I can reach.

Momentum drives it home, and i feel the blade sink into his flesh like a 9 year old sinks into a parfait.

His eyes widen in surprise, I twist the blade for good measure.

"Im...possible." Are his final words before collapsing onto the cold, steel flooring.

I realize that a couple more inches, and he would have hacked my left shoulder clean off, the red tracer on my side is enough to remind me how close that was.

My heart is hammering from that struggle, I honestly didn't think that would work.

I was lucky.

Breathing heavily, I quickly wrench the blade out of his corpse, it's time to get to work finishing the rest of these guys off.

**Veigar POV**

The last soldier turns on me, blade drawn.

My mind is telling me to move, but my body is frozen, i'm too panicked to do anything.

"I can't..." I hear myself mutter, "I can't..."

I see the flash of steel, and screw my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

But it never came, I slowly open my eyes, and feel something wet on my face.

It's blood, but it isn't mine.

Looking up, a sharp, metal piece of rebar has been forced through his exposed neck, his eyes wide in shock, I can barely believe it myself as he abruptly falls on top of me,

the weight is crushing.

Moments later, the weight is alleviated as someone pulls him off, it only takes me a second to recognize who my savior is.

"Geralt, you came back for me..." I'm shaky and out of breath, he pulls me up before kneeling back down to rummage through the fallen soldier's gear.

I see it, the dagger he had drawn to end my life a couple seconds prior.

"I hope you know how to use it, because you're going to have to."

It takes me a second to register that he's giving it to me. I reach out and wrap my fingers around the leather pommel. It feels heavy, and clumsy in my hands. I've never

swung a sword in my life, nor have I ever planned on doing so.

I never imagined myself doing something even remotely close to this.

Geralt grabs the side sword from the soldier's scabbard, the blade is revealed in a flash of light, the odd glow of the prison walls bathing the blade a deep blue.

I can hear him curse under his breath.

Damn, we lost Renault." I realize that one of the inmates were slain in the ensuing battle for my freedom, Geralt passes a bloody hand over his eyes, closing them.

"Remember, aim for the tendons, you and I are shorter than Humans, that's the only chance we have."

He's serious. Amidst the chaos, I realize that we're going to have to fight our way out.

Even as we speak, more Noxian soldiers come our way, intent on bringing us down.

"I hope you know how to use it" The words echo in my mind.

I've never stood up for anything in my life.

And now, the only thing I have to stand up for **is **my life.

As the men come into view, I can make out the red and black plate colors of Noxus embroidered onto the plate.

To my left, Geralt mutters under his breath, sword at the ready.

I count 11.

Can I do this?

Can I kill a man?

"This is it, do you want to live? Or do you want to die?"

There's no choice, my survival depends on the death of these soldiers.

They stand in our way as but one obstacle in the many that we must overcome.

It's them our us.

My hand tightens on the piece of metal between my hands.

I feel something I haven't felt in a long time.

**Rage.**

The rush of adrenaline as they close distance, my dagger drawn with both hands at the hilt.

Yes, this is it. And this is where I begin my story.


	2. Chapter 2

Growing up was a harsh lesson.

They berated me for my small size and social ineptitude.

Even among a city of halflings there were outcasts.

Because of this, I was driven by this insatiable urge to prove myself.

While they skipped, played, and sang on the streets, I was locked up in my room, poring over ancient texts and manuscripts, gaining some clue as to what lies

beyond.

Seeking ancient, forgotten knowledge.

Magic.

It became an obsession...

For the longest time books were the only company I ever needed.

Sick of being the runt of the litter, I cursed my own weakness.

I wanted to be somebody. Anybody.

Perhaps my solitude would have driven me insane...

Perhaps it already has.

"So what happened next?" A high pitched, playful voice throws me out of my train of thought.

My glowing, yellow eyes narrow and fixate upon the girl before me.

That stupid pink hat she wears is pretty ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous as mine.

The fairy that always accompanies her seems to be fidgeting with my staff, interested in the mana I have stored there.

I wave it away in annoyance. The pink apparition crosses its arms, I can tell it doesn't approve of me.

Part of me wants to scoff, to tell her to go away.

What does she think this is, story time?

This is no story.

And I'm no hero.

She's heard enough.

But deep down... another part of me...

It's been so long since I've actually talked to someone like this.

With a resigned sigh, I look up towards the night sky.

The memories are so fresh in my head, it's surreal.

"We were outnumbered...It was brutal."

* * *

><p><strong>Noxian High Command<strong>

**1432 Hours**

**...**

**The general paces to and fro, the mahogany desk that is normally occupied now vacant in his rage**

**"You are all! INCOMPETENT!"**

**The soldiers flinch, this isn't the first time they've had to bring news this bad.**

**They can only imagine what the repercussions are this time around.**

**No one speaks, except for the General's heavy pacing.**

**There's no excuse this time, what were they to say? That a couple of prisoners managed to free an entire cell block?**

**Madness.**

**It's an insult just to think about. An insult over everything Noxus stands for.**

**What's the meaning of strength if his men can't even quell a prison riot?**

**"And to think you're all supposed to be trained soldiers." The crow on his left shoulder caws disapprovingly, it's multiple eyes nesting on the rookie who**

**shrunk backwards ever so slightly in it's gaze.**

**How dare these...prisoners, a bunch of rag tag, half starved insects have the AUDACITY to challenge his might?**

**There's no time for punishment, he'll deal with these soldiers later.**

**"Send for Darius." He says through grit teeth, barely containing the rising anger in his voice. **

**This shouldn't be even be needed.**

**The soldiers hurriedly bow before filing out the wooden doors from his office, relieved that no one was being killed this time around.**

**Curse their ineptitude, curse those prisoners, forcing his hand like this. They shouldn't even be worth his attention, let alone time.**

* * *

><p><strong>Veigar POV<strong>

11 of them

Pikes raised high, shields held low.

A phalanx.

They want to spear us as we try to escape.

But I don't falter, none of us do, for that means defeat.

To face death in the eye, tooth and claw, and make it work for it's damn meal.

We have to take this district, our escape depends on it.

"This is it!" I see Geralt raise the sword as he charges into the Noxian pike line.

Confusion as I watch the remaining inmates follow, resolute and determined.

Is this how Geralt fights?

No plan, no caution. just a straight up charge into a pike line.

This is suicide, they're going to skewer him like a fish on a stick.

But I can't help but follow him, suicide it may be.

Whatever happens, happens.

A long, drawn out roar as we let out our war cry.

It's as if my entire life has been building up to this moment.

And this is the breaking point.

Alive.

I feel alive.

I analyze the men moments before we hit the phalanx.

Suicidal at best, however, this is as good as it gets, I hear the Noxian foot soldiers jeering at our approach.

"Hold! Hold!"

We slam into the shield line, a loud staccato of flesh meeting flesh, steel meeting steel.

The impact jars my shoulder, I'm running on pure adrenaline at this point.

A spear narrowly misses my left cheek as I dive through the front line, leaving the brunt of the collision to the bigger inmates, my small size allowing free

reign to get in close.

One of the pike men realizes this and focuses on me.

We make eye contact as I dive past his forward thrust, missing his mark by inches: my heart.

Coming out of the roll, I spring into a low crouch. eyes narrowing in my forward advance.

I level my dagger for a quick jab at his left leg.

_"Go for the tendons. It's your only chance."_

He steps back and reaches for his sword, but I'm faster and manage to get him in the shin, rivulets of red running down the steel as the dagger is withdrawn with a violent

wrench.

"Bastard!" He kicks me in the chest, I fall flat on my back gasping for breath.

He drops to his functional right knee, gasping in pain.

The steel flooring screeches as I scramble to my feet.

This is my chance.

Going for his neck in a reckless charge, I try to angle the pointed dagger into his throat with both hands.

But he's quick, and had already managed to draw his sword despite the wound. With a parry, I'm thrown off balance, stumbling backwards as I try to recover.

The next strike catches me off guard, drawing blood from my left shoulder.

A hiss, it feels like someone just dipped my entire left side in ice cold water.

The pain comes a second later, I realize that the wound is deeper than I first thought.

Eyes narrow, he has the advantage in both size and reach.

But I can't lose here.

I'll have to be more careful this time around.

He's bent in a low crouch, trying to stay balanced on his remaining good leg, blood pools on the ground from where I managed to get him.

If I can just get him in the other leg...

He'll be vulnerable enough for me to get a shot at his exposed neck.

Yes.

That's the only way this is going to work.

Resolute in my decision, the flooring makes a screech as I skid across the steel flooring, intent on bringing him down.

He grits his teeth and steels the blade to meet mine.

I see the swing come as I charge, a diagonal slash aimed towards my abdomen, hard to miss from his position, but easy enough to read.

His right arm arcs low, and I bring my own to meet it, attempting to parry the slash with a diagonal left, dagger brought low as to keep the blade away from my chest.

Momentum brings the blade down to my hands and skids off, drawing blood from my wrist. The small blade makes deflecting his strikes extremely difficult.

Ignoring the sting in my right hand, the dagger finds its way past his guard and into a gap in the plate.

He tries to back away, however i'm already too close.

I've got him now, there's no way I can miss from this distance.

With both arms, I sink the blade into his right thigh.

I hear him cry out as he collapses, unable to support his own weight.

Grabbing him by the collar, I raise my right arm, blade angled towards his throat.

His eyes widen as he realizes it's over.

Time seems to slow, a cold realization as it dawns on me the gravity of my actions.

He's at my mercy, yet I can't bring myself to finish him off.

Seconds tick into eternity.

Can I do it?

Can I kill a man?

I hesitate, dagger shaking in my grip, my lips are dry, palms sticky with sweat.

My moment of weakness is promptly exploited, however, as he punches me in the gut.

I double over from the pain, falling onto my back, losing my grip on the knife, the blade skidding away out of arms reach.

Moments later, I feel a heavy weight on my chest, I realize that he's straddling me, kept in place by his knees, I can't move.

Then air is cut off as he presses his fingers into my throat.

He's going to strangle me.

A grimace can be seen under his visor, I can't breath, my windpipe being crushed under his grip.

I shouldn't have hesitated.

I should have killed him when I had the chance.

Now i'm going to die because I have a conscience.

Head throbbing from the lack of oxygen, I frantically feel around for anything. ANYTHING.

Vision is slowly beginning to blur, I'll lose consciousness in a couple seconds if I don't break him out of this grip.

Then I feel it, a metal pipe, dropped from one of the inmates. My fingers close around the rusty handle in a rush of adrenaline.

With one strike, I bring the pipe across his face.

The force breaks the metal pipe on collision, he's knocked off to my side with a sickening thud, his infantry helmet falling off in the

process, rolling onto the blood soaked gravel.

Breathing heavily, I quickly stand up and back off, waiting for his next move.

But it never comes.

He isn't moving.

Cautiously, I walk up to his prone form for a closer inspection.

His eyes are glassy, facing the ceiling in a mixture of shock and pain.

He's dead.

I killed him.

I actually killed him.

Guilt, followed by remorse and sorrow threaten to overtake me.

Droplets of water hit the surface from where i'm standing.

It's raining? Impossible, we're indoors.

No.

These are tears.

I'm crying.

But now isn't the time for tears.

In taking his life, I've also taken something else.

My humanity.

What have I become?

"Push! Forward!" I hear the voice of Geralt, the large body of men pressing the Noxians back gives us more breathing room, the melee now more fragmented, formation successfully broken.

I grab the Noxian infantry sword lying on his corpse and attempt to rejoin Geralt as he struggles with a much larger man, the melee intensifying between the inmates and the remaining Noxian forces.

He's hurt, bad. The first thing I notice is the cut along his chest bleeding profusely and one eye shut from blunt trauma, his teeth are clenched as the man

makes another blow, something Geralt narrowly avoids with another roll to his left, trying to get past the immense guard of that sword.

I try to come closer, however, the fighting around me is too intense to maneuver around, and running through it is a sure sign of stupidity.

Watching the exchange only makes it more apparent that Geralt is losing, it's only a matter of time before he slips up and gets killed.

I had to get to him.

With inhuman force, we shove the Noxians backwards, inch by inch, step by step.

We have nothing to lose, desperation is the sole driving force in this struggle.

As we push forward to the district exit, I see an opening, a small gap that I need, Geralt and the bladesman are left alone amidst a pile of bodies, infantryman and

inmates who tried to interfere.

The sword is heavy in my hand, clearly made for a human, Yordles unaccounted for.

It takes every cell in my body to swing the blade, arms burning from the effort.

The attack is sloppy, I ricochet off of the plate, losing my grip on the sword and falling onto my back, however this was enough to throw him off balance.

As he stumbles forward, Geralt darts underneath his towering form and slides the blade into his throat, crimson steel protruding from the other side of his neck.

A few moments pass as the soldier writhes about in his death throes before Geralt unceremoniously dumps his corpse off to the side and pries the sword from his fingers.

"There's only a couple of them left, let's gut these bastards and get out of here."

I nod, the thought of more killing makes me sick to my stomach.

However, I realize that it's necessary.

Blade in hand, I set about joining Geralt in his grisly work.

The struggle was quick, albeit brutal. We lost 4 prisoners in the ensuing conflict, however the guards were slain, and we had taken control of the cell district.

Furthermore, we managed to fight our way out of the cell and free everyone in our block.

Geralt initially was against that idea, voicing his concerns.

"Are you insane? These people are here for a reason. You really want a bunch of killers and psychopaths running amok? They don't deserve a second chance."

But despite that - or perhaps my lingering naivety as a young Yordle proved - I still saw these prisoners are poor souls, deserving of at least this one final act of redemption.

That, and we could use the extra bodies, something Geralt realizes after the heavy casualties taken earlier.

Eventually, I persuaded him into opening the cells, though he still heavily voiced his dissent.

"You're gonna regret this, they're the lowest of the low, nothing more than scum." As we began bashing the locks to their cells.

Everyone followed Geralt, despite his constant misgivings and small size.

"Would you all quit following me? I freed you now scram."

Maybe it was because they saw him take on 11 guards while outnumbered and win.

Maybe it was because he was able to kill someone twice his size.

Maybe it was because of the ruthless way he ran things.

Regardless, he had their unconditional loyalty and respect.

Before his capture, Geralt told me he used to fight in the war.

Which war, it was never clear.

But he looks back on it bitterly.

Eventually, at wits end, Geralt gave in, exasperated.

"Not all of you are going to make it, if you wanna take your chances off in some other direction now is the time. This isn't going to be pretty."

No one moved. Geralt swore silently.

"Alright we're moving, grab some weapons and lets go."

Even now, running along the prison yard into the next district, roughly 30 or 40 prisoners are not too far off behind.

I take in a deep breath of fresh air, a deep contrast to the stifling stench of our cell.

It's the first time I've seen the night sky in what feels like an eternity.

Maybe it's our last.

Regardless, I plan on seeing this through to the end.


	3. Chapter 3

**I rewrote this chapter more times then I care to count. For some reason I had difficulty piecing this together to actually make it seem believable. Even so I'm not too happy with how it turned out. Anyway, that's just that. **

* * *

><p>I once met a man on my brief travels.<p>

He was on the run, a fugitive from Ionia.

The same look in his eye that I have now.

A cornered animal with nowhere to go.

"The road to ruin is shorter then you think."

I was naive, innocent to the world that lay before me...

But he was right.

* * *

><p><strong>Noxian High Command<strong>

**Prison Exit**

**1530 Hours**

* * *

><p>Once more, the heavy stampede of boots as we make the final advance, my heart beats faster as the adrenaline kicks in.<p>

A defiant roar as the inmates wash over the field, not a break in the momentum as we close distance.

I can see the red gilded helmets moments before impact.

Their cold, dead set eyes.

The cruel sneer of Noxian arrogance.

They expect to emerge victorious by a huge margin.

But there is no turning back now!

The front line collides with the Noxian forces, once again my blood stained hands are brought forth as the blade is swung into the Noxian pike line.

But it isn't pretty.

These aren't the soldiers we've been fighting before.

They hold fast.

Our first wave is completely decimated as the pike line spears the frontal assault, defiant cries as inmates are impaled upon the Noxian spearheads.

It's nothing short of a massacre.

We redouble our efforts with another savage push, pipes, shivs and swords meeting steel as we quickly reattempt to close the distance.

The red eyes of the raven banner stare back as I furiously hack away at the spearheads, desperate for an opening.

So...this is what it means to face death in the eye.

The dead and dying lie across the concrete, inmates breath their last as our numbers quickly dwindle.

Almost instinct as I push away the fatigue and struggle forward.

Survival.

I see the pike men in front rear back for another thrust.

We're forced back once again as the second wave of inmates are cut down en masse.

The deaths leave a bitter taste in my mouth as they fall.

They might have been able to hold this phalanx forever.

That is, if the ground hadn't become so slick with blood that the frontal line of spear men actually lost their footing.

More than enough to break through.

With a furious shunt of my blade, we surge forward into the fray, gaining ground, breaking through shields and spears alike.

The hiss of steel as they draw arming swords in response, spears too large for close quarters.

A sense of dread as the melee intensifies.

It's the first time I've seen a vanguard up close.

Bandle City used to have stories about the Noxian elite and how they carried off misbehaving Yordles to their graves.

It isn't far from the truth.

I can see his breath fog the steel as our blades clash, his strength proves to be overwhelming, blue eyes glint under that iron helmet.

He's overzealous.

Instinct is telling me to move, but I stand my ground, absorbing the full brunt of his blows, waiting for the opportunity to present itself...

But my arms are quickly tiring, Yordles are not meant for this kind of physical strain.

An opening comes in the form of a forward thrust.

I feint a low right in response, and he brings the sword a bit lower to compensate, however my small form allows me to adjust the point of impact on the fly, something

he realizes a little too late.

The point of his blade skids off the edge of my cross guard and I make my move.

Stepping past the riposted sword, I allow momentum to drive him forward, way past the intended mark, and into my blade.

The mail deflects the otherwise fatal blow, and he doubles back, breathing hard, sweat beads upon his exposed temple, as is mine.

All the fighting around me has deafened as I focus upon my adversary, time seems to slow as I strafe to the right, trying to abuse the fact that his right

hand can't keep up with my movements.

But he's left handed.

It comes quick, and I don't completely anticipate the swing as he steps forward.

The steel bites into my shoulder as my guard was slightly off.

Wrenching myself free of the blade, I stagger back and inspect the wound.

It's bad, I bring back my hand only to see it covered in fresh blood.

Looking up towards my adversary, a wild grin pierces through the dark underneath that helmet.

There's a clear difference between us in terms of skill, reach, and equipment.

I'm outmatched, the only way I'm going to land a hit is to take one, and reach the soft spot between those gaps.

His figure blurs in a swift series of movements, closing distance at a speed belying the heavy armor.

One chance.

I feint once more to the right, this time not bothering to double back.

Another sharp pain as the sword is brought down.

A red tracer runs across my chest before exploding in a shower of blood.

"Gotcha, kid, its over."

That damn grin on his face.

I'll wipe it off.

With a savage roar belying my size, I push through the pain and angle my sword to pierce his tasset.

His eyes widen in surprise. Momentum drives it home, the Noxian edge slides through his stomach with a dull thud.

As he dies, I almost collapse, wrenching out my sword as he falls backwards.

Steadying myself on one knee, breathing comes out in short bursts as blood spatters the cold pavement.

It's mine.

The pain comes in a wave of agonizing heat across my chest.

It's not a superficial wound.

I'll succumb soon if it's not treated.

Without any immediate target, a cursory glance is all it takes to see how we've been faring.

It isn't good.

Everywhere I look, Noxian infantry surround our forces.

We've become boxed in from the rest of the inmates, the fighting has become an all out melee, all vestiges of strategy broken down to nothing more then a savage brawl.

**Geralt POV**

The plan was simple.

Despite everyone's protests, the decision was reached.

A double strike force in order to get past the barricade.

The chances were slim, so I split us up into two groups.

Once through, any and all survivors will regroup and push towards the exit.

This was the only way. Cold and ruthless as it was.

Noxian barricades are designed to stop frontal assaults.

A double flank attack is all that's required.

That, and a willingness to suffer a huge amount of casualties.

Well, that's the plan anyways...

There aren't many of us left, roughly a couple hundred remain standing against the Noxian vanguard.

Even worse, I can see another banner off in the distance, fresh reinforcements are not that far off.

We're being pushed in.

Staying here is a death sentence.

We have to move now, Veigar and his unit are already halfway through.

Blood is drawn as I bite my lip nervously, steeling myself for the heavy amount of life about to be lost in the next ensuing push.

But people are going to die either way, it's not like we have a choice.

We all knew it had to come to this.

Old habits die hard.

And I still have one more trick up my sleeve.

Past the line of infantry, I see him.

He's in range.

So long as we make it past the spear men, the exit can be reached if enough men are able to rally.

Teeth are grit as we brace ourselves for the inevitable charge through the infantry line.

This is it!

"PUSH!"

We trample through the shield wall.

"PUSH!"

We've closed distance with the spear men.

Blood stains my sword as I savagely cut through the ranks.

But we're sustaining a lot of damage.

Minutes pass by at an agonizingly slow pace, every inch is paid for in blood.

Heavy losses on both sides, only a hundred of us still stand...

Yet despite this, we're making actual, tangible progress.

Sergeants shout commands, desperate to form another phalanx as we push on through.

"Shields! Walls! Up!"

But they don't know what it's like.

To spend every waking moment craving just a taste of freedom.

And now that our freedom might just become a reality...

There's no way in hell are they stopping us now.

"Give it to em, boys!"

A savage roar as we crush another line of infantry, desperately mowing through the throngs of Noxian soldiers as they try to form a defensive formation.

More and more wounds are being accumulated as I quickly duel and dispatch infantrymen, each one bringing me dangerously closer to the brink.

But I don't plan on stopping now.

We're going to make it, and they know it.

A sigh of relief.

Almost there...

We might just-

"That's far enough. Traitor."

As I try to press forward, something catches me in the shoulder.

Only a sharp gasp is managed before the blow knocks me to the ground. My lungs burn in an effort to breath.

The impact is serious, perhaps a concussion.

It takes a couple seconds to get up, my vision is jarred, the battlefield has dimmed as I try to adjust my balance.

The first thing I notice is the enormous axe carried in his left, heavily plated arm.

Red stains the otherwise flawless steel and a honed edge runs along the axe head.

A couple seconds as I analyze those features.

The heavy armor, the red cape.

The Noxian insignia embroidered into the breastplate.

It's him.

A thousand words run through my head, though I find it difficult to pick a single one.

I want to kill him.

A smirk, then a laugh.

He shifts a grip on the axe, hefting it over a plated shoulder, the once noble edge stained with crimson.

"How far you've fallen from grace... Pathetic." His voice is gravel, it cuts through the earth and shakes the very core of my being.

Memories from the war.

My fallen comrades.

Friends.

They trusted me.

And I failed them.

Steeling the now chipped and bloodied sword, we both circle one another as is customary of a formal Noxian duel.

He makes the mockery of a bow.

I spit at his feet.

"You seem to have lost your sense of courtesy...Lieutenant."

That does it.

Gripping the hilt in both hands, I make the charge, intent on bringing him down.

**Veigar POV**

It's chaos.

Everywhere I look.

Steel clashes against steel, the shouting only gets louder as I try to fight my way through the violent crowd.

Dammit.

Where's Geralt?

He said that he'd be here, yet he's nowhere to be seen.

Our entire unit is being wiped out, where is everyone?

But off a ways away, I see his unit.

Blood stains the ground beneath either side, both taking heavy losses.

Amidst the ire of war I make out the small, barely visible silhouette of a Yordle.

Bringing the blade to bear, bloodshot eyes facing off against an unknown adversary

I see **him.**

Why isn't he retreating? He should be regrouping in our direction!

Only now do I realize that pressure has been alleviated on our side, Noxian reinforcements have stopped, instead opting to reinforce the western line.

In fact, we actually have a clear run to the exit, Noxian troops have fallen back.

But why?

The blood in my veins turn to ice.

What is he doing...?!

Turning a frenzied eye to the battle off in the distance, the fighting has only intensified.

His men have gone on the offensive...!

That's impossible, that's suicide!

He wouldn't do something so rash.

So much is at stake.

But it only takes a couple more paces to realize what he intended to do.

No...

You fool...!

A mad dash as the prisoners make a run for the now clear exit.

But I can't leave him.

With one more fleeting look at what is probably my last glimpse of the front gates, I run back into the fray.

I hope I'm not too late.

**Geralt POV**

The axe head comes at an inhumanly fast and almost perfectly horizontal angle.

It would have cleaved anyone else in two, yet my height proves to be an advantage as I duck under the swing, sword in hand.

Past the guard, I angle my thrust towards his sternum, betting on the looser chain and lack of plating there.

But he's quick.

Much quicker then expected.

With finesse unbefitting of his monstrous size, he sweeps the right foot back and allows me to pass him completely unharmed.

Shit.

I roll forward just as the returning axe narrowly takes my head off, cleaving the ground in two and throwing up a shower of sparks.

My fur is damp with sweat, that was real close.

He hasn't changed a bit.

"Witness true strength!"

Again, the axe comes inhumanly fast, eyes barely tracking the steel, edge skimming my left shoulder.

I jump over the returning backswing and trap the edge under my feet.

Before he can react I've already closed the distance.

Grabbing the breastplate with my left hand, I launch myself up, driving the sword into his exposed throat.

It's over.

But inches before impact, I'm stopped.

To my dismay, he has the point of my sword in an iron vice, one hand wrapped around the Noxian edge.

Despite the heavy leather under his gauntlet, blood trickles down the blade as I attempt to force it through his grip and into his neck.

Frustration as his lips curl into that arrogant sneer.

"Nice try, but trickery isn't enough to save you this day."

No dice.

He's too strong to contest.

With a tug, he pulls me into range as I'm dragged by the point of my own sword, axe in the other hand ready to cut me down once i'm close enough.

I don't have have any other choice but to let go.

With one more futile thrust, I kick him in the sternum and roll backwards, relinquishing the blade.

The gravel cuts my legs as I recover and reach for the knife.

A laugh as he watches me brandish the dagger, grim it may be.

"You're going to die just like your own men."

Looking right, I can see Veigar's unit off in the distance, struggling for every inch.

We're practically there...

But...

As long as he's in the way, we won't be able to get any further.

It takes every fiber of my being to bring myself to terms and look away.

At the very least we buy time for him to escape.

I know my men would have done the same...

My men.

"Orders, commander?"

My eyes widen in shock.

It couldn't be.

He's dead.

Yet i hear him, that familiar, cheery voice cutting through the cacophony of war.

The prison walls shift and blur, the scenery changes.

What was left of the Ionian fields were turned to nothing more than smoking craters under a heavy rain of chemical bombardment.

But it wasn't enough.

The war was over. They were pushing us back, this was our last stand on that fateful day.

Everyone knew what awaited them once we crossed this breach.

But they were willing to give it their all.

Despite this, I couldn't give the order to retreat.

Blinded by pride, embezzled with Noxian ideals of strength.

I lead them to their deaths.

Tears.

I couldn't do it.

I wasn't fit to lead them.

Furthermore, I should have died with them, as testament to my arrogance.

As a soldier should.

C-Caith...?!

But I'm hushed as he presses the sword into my hands.

His sword.

The embodiment of our dreams and ideals.

As I look up, shocked, it really was him.

The same wolfish grin that I knew and loved, he was fading away.

"You know what they say, commander. When your back is against the wall, the only thing you can do is fight."

And just like that. He was gone.

Have I really waited this long...

To hear that voice again...?!

They were all fading away.

But the sword remained.

Through grit teeth, the tears begin to fall.

All these years, emotions long buried begin to unfold.

Grief, Regret.

Happiness.

As the scene fades to darkness, I'm left with cold reality, once again facing insurmountable odds

But this time it will be different.

"Lines! Hold!"

A respondent 'HOOAH!" as the prisoners jeer and shove against the encroaching tide.

Choking back the tears, I bring the blade to bear one last time.

A simple, yet elegant officers blade.

I exhale, and feel a deadly calm.

I'm sorry, kid.

But I'm not gonna be there to bail you out this time around.


	4. Chapter 4

"Veggy?"

A voice. Again, I'm brought back to the present, though my mind feels so far away.

Then annoyance as I realize what she just called me.

"Don't address me with that name ever again."

The evening has shifted to noon, and the autumn colors are blanketed under the approaching night.

"S-sorry." A silence. A cold silence.

For all she knows I'm just making this up.

It's not like it matters, I could care less what she thinks of me.

I could care less what this world thinks of me.

In our darkest hour, the only thing we have is ourselves to rely on.

The nerve of this woman, to up and follow me into the wilderness like I'm some case to be studied.

Just who does she think she is?

My eyes narrow and put her under scrutiny, the pink fairy floats in front of her protectively.

I can sense magic, a faint barrier ready to be erected in case I meant to do any harm.

Pah.

I could kill them both.

One spell, neither of them would stand a chance.

Or maybe they would.

Who knows.

As I turn to leave, I hear her voice again.

It cuts through the air like a chime, a lilting, childlike voice.

"Wait!"

Again, the stupid little girl wants to play make believe in this little fairy tale of hers?

Once more, I turn.

Like time and time again.

It's always like this, I'm summoned to fight, I leave, and she follows.

But this time I decided to humor her.

Just this once.

And it hits me.

Something hits me.

Before I can reach for my staff, I realize that it's the girl.

She's hugging me.

I can't move, her vice is like a thick binding of rope.

Annoyed, I try to shove her off, however she's surprisingly strong, the girl won't budge.

"Stay, pretty please?"

I look down, it's rare for me to look down seeing as everyone is taller than me.

However, this is an exception.

Tears.

She's crying.

"Why don't you want to be my friend?"

I've hurt her.

Somehow, someway.

I've hurt her.

Silence, we stand in the glade as the autumn leaves begin to fall.

A couple more hours and the night sky will shine bright.

A sigh.

"Let me go, I'll stay, but just for a little bit." If only to alleviate the pressure she's putting on my back.

But despite this, she says something incomprehensible, however I can tell by the tone that she's overjoyed.

"Yay! Veggy, let's play-"

"Don't call me that."

"Oh, sorry."

Stupid. Naive.

The concept of playtime is foreign to me, however that's all she has done in that meaningless life of hers.

Play.

What is that? A word with no meaning, no purpose.

Survival.

Now that's a word with meaning and purpose.

It's the only thing that matters in this world.

In any other situation, I probably would have stopped here and left her, just like i had countless times before.

However...

I've seen tears like that.

Tears of solitude.

Though I'll never admit it to her face, I can't stand to see that ever again.

It reminds me too much of myself.

* * *

><p>My strength is returning, replaced with a burning need to save him.<p>

A Yordle trait that we all have.

It's inherent in our race, our genetics.

Selflessness, and the strength that it lends us.

Because in our darkest hour, the only thing we have...

Is each other.

Solitude is what I fear most, and I'll be damned if that's how I die here.

Even now, I can feel my legs pump faster as I close the distance.

It feels like an eternity, as if I were running through water.

Past all the fighting, cutting my way through more men then I would dare to count.

I finally reach him.

But...

My breath is caught, as what lies before me drains the blood from my face.

No...

No...no...no no no...

Violently coughing, he twists his pained face into a smile.

I'm too late.

"...You...idiot."

I can't believe what i'm seeing.

An entire chunk of his left torso has been ripped out, as if someone had eviscerated him simply with the act of pure blunt force.

There's blood everywhere, cuts crisscross the bare gray fur along his chest, his left arm has been all but crushed.

Savagery.

I kneel and take him into my arms, desperately trying to staunch the blood flow with my hands.

But i'm no doctor.

And he's not as tough as he's been making himself out to be.

He'll bleed out soon.

A hand grips my shoulder. Through the tears, I realize that it's him.

The smile lingers, he brings up a shaky hand to wipe something away from my eye.

It's impossible to stop my lower lip from trembling as he brushes away the tears.

"...Don't cry...it makes you look weak."

But I can't.

I've been weak.

I've been weak my whole life.

And now I'm going to be alone.

"Geralt...you're going to die."

We stay like this for a moment, heedless to fighting around us.

A bubble in time in which I wish would last forever.

A laugh, then blood as he coughs up the last of his dwindling life force.

"Aye, I am...I've been dying for a long time kid."

"What...?"

Another cough, he eyes me with a wry smile.

"Take my unit...and push to the exit. That's the only way you're going to get out."

Numbly, I nod my head.

"You remind me of someone I used to know...long ago."

A pause, time seems to slow as he shakes my shoulder with a steady hand.

"Don't ever change."

Then, just like that, his arm drops to the ground, and his eyes dim as he succumbs to the wounds.

A laugh, the gravel crunches as I hear the brute advance upon my prone form, yet I can barely move.

A cruel laugh that cuts through the air like a knife.

Taunting me.

Berating me.

Seething pain. Grief.

As the Noxian's encroach, I know its over.

But I plan on taking at least one more soul with me to hell.

Looking up, I can barely see him through the tears.

His killer.

And I grit my teeth, steeling myself for this one final act of defiance.

I realize that in this horrible world that we live in...

Strength is all that matters.

He drinks in my anger and sadness like desert.

Sick bastard. He enjoyed the acting of killing, no remorse whatsoever.

As much as I would like to die here, I still have it in me to honor one last request.

And that is to live.

At least for his sake.

I'm weaponless, save for the broken sword in Geralt's hand.

But that won't stop me from trying.

One more time, the void ritual.

My entire life was spent poring over ancient manuscripts and gaining knowledge.

Up until now, it was all locked away from me.

No matter how many times I tried it, the door refused to open.

I lacked something, but now I know.

It's hatred.

In all things.

"You're going to pay for what you did to Geralt." My voice is trembling, though it's no longer with grief.

At this, his eyes shine with a cruel glint, that sneer never leaving his face as he responds, slow and deliberate.

"You will regret opposing me."

I know it will work this time.

That's all that's needed to push me to the brink.

A switch in my mind goes off, and everything goes blank.

Then it envelopes me.

This is what I've been waiting for my entire life.

Everything burns, yet I struggle to hang on, lest the power consumes me.

Remembering every verse, every line by heart, my lips recite the demonic pact with hell itself.

Whatever the price is, I'm willing to pay it.

And pay it I shall.

The pain only gets worse as Mana begins to spread throughout my very being.

Yordles are so small, we serve as poor vessels for the spiritual energy.

Yet I've grown attuned to it, almost natural, as years and years of mental fortitude have strengthened me for this ordeal.

My eyes are engulfed in the energy, I'm almost blinded by the pain, but I grit my teeth.

I refuse to give in.

The energy wants to take over, but I'm determined to tame it before I'm consumed.

What feels like an eternity must have been only seconds in reality.

My entire body is on fire, the mana is rejecting me.

However, just a couple more seconds.

"Use us."

**That's it.**

**The magic. It calls to me.**


	5. Chapter 5

I sold my soul.

Pushed to the brink, I paid the ultimate price.

And in my grief, turned against the world, backed into a corner.

But what else do I have?

If I should die tonight, today, tomorrow, it wouldn't matter.

I have nothing left to offer.

* * *

><p>I have to stop him, here and now.<p>

A deep breath as I suck in the cool, night sky...

In starch contrast to the mana charring my hands and body, singing away the fur, revealing the now scarred and calloused skin underneath.

The fighting has only gotten worse, I dully realize the inmates who stayed were Geralt's unit.

They must have known that they weren't going to escape because they were all forming a phalanx, staving off the tide of Noxian soldiers and keeping our confrontation to a one on one.

Even though we're probably going to all die anyway, I quietly thank the men who have sold their lives dearly...

those who will in the moments to come...

And I thank him.

For being with me to the end.

I focus my mind and and bring all other thoughts to a standstill, my vision begins to blur, a struggle to stay conscious as the spell takes it's toll.

A very powerful impact spell.

The hate begins to boil over and my mind is clouded with rage.

I'll avenge you yet...

I need to test my limits before I go on the offensive.

However reason fails to reach me.

That, and anything less I fear won't be enough.

My heart rate accelerates as he approaches, axe in hand, the size difference is massive as he towers over me, an ominous gleam is reflected off of the Noxian plate.

And a searing pain runs through my chest...

I don't know if I've drawn too much...

But it's now or never.

I have to release.

Breathing out, I allow the air to exit my lungs, freeing up space for the mana to fill my chest cavity.

My body is so small that I actually have to expunge oxygen to make room for the powerful magic.

"Die!"

I see the blow come, a vertical cleave aimed to split me in two...

However it's too late to move.

Sleight of hand brings my palms up to his chest, I shift the energy from my hands into his massive frame.

And I push as hard as I can.

A burst of black, he's knocked a good 10 feet backwards with an impact stronger then any physical weapon.

His massive frame crashes into multiple fighting inmates and soldiers alike, I can see the smoking, charred dent in the plate from where the spell made contact.

For a second my heart stops, hoping that I've killed him then and there.

But he's tough, the rubble shifts and stirs as he recovers, only a moment passes before he's trying to close the distance before I can hit him with a follow up.

That one caught him by surprise.

How far that's going to get me, I don't know.

A heavy drain is once again wrought upon body as I begin to channel the second spell, hopefully the added distance will give me enough time.

His eyes narrow, I can tell that despite his lack of magical ability he can sense the increased energy as I struggle to control the mana circuits running rampant.

I try not to panic as he increases the pace, barreling through startled onlookers in order to reach me.

If I hit him dead on from this distance, it'll kill him for sure.

The familiar sensation of pain as I wrench forth my life essence as an offering.

My hands begin to glow black, once again charging the impact spell, I resist the urge to shut my eyes which have been burning a bright yellow up until now.

But my heart rate is straining as I constantly press it for more.

Vision is beginning to blur once again, I'm really pushing it.

I don't have enough...!

Yet I continue to channel, vaguely aware that this might very well be the last spell I ever cast.

This time, the mana has manifested into the shape of a dark orb, the slightest touch sends electric shivers through my spine.

I look up, he's merely a couple feet away.

But it's too late for him now.

His eyes widen as I finish the spell, momentum stops him from evading.

I cock back an arm and launch the ball of energy into his massive frame.

It rips through the air and collides with the plate, the energy seems to dissipate, then implodes as it makes contact.

Debris is thrown up as the resulting explosion tears all surroundings into nothing more than a smoking crater.

There is no doubt in my mind that he could have survived that.

It was nothing short of a baleful strike.

I fall to my knees, breathing heavily.

Unexpected.

I was sure that I had drawn too much...

Then I begin to cough up blood, and the answer becomes obvious.

But it doesn't matter...

It's over...

Yet something's off.

Something is very, very off.

As the smoke clears, I feel uneasy...

Why do I...

Then I hear it.

The whistle of an axe.

"Not so fast!"

What-!

Instinct throws me to the side a millisecond before his axe cleaves the ground in two.

Another swing, I scramble to my feet and duck just as it passes over the back of my head.

I dive over the next swing and brace myself.

With a heavy thud, I land on the ground, my right shoulder taking the brunt of the dive.

There isn't time, I can already hear the whistle behind another swing, I roll to the left and get back up, scuffing my arms and knees in the adrenaline rush.

How...he withstood it!

Much to my dismay, he's almost completely unscathed, save for the heavy dents in which the spells made contact, along with the smoke rolling off of him in billowing waves.

A cruel grin, the axe is swung like a pendulum over a plated shoulder as he begins to advance once again.

Impossible...!

He shouldn't be alive, let alone making moves like that.

Something catches my eye, was it the light?

He...

No.

Sure enough, I see it. A faint, magical barrier glows a dull orange under the night sky.

It stopped the spell from connecting, though sheer force of the blow must have only thrown him backwards, he remains relatively unharmed.

Magic resistance.

Years of killing magi on Noxian battlegrounds must have tempered his body to withstand the arcane.

Damn him...

With a roar I summon the rest of my strength.

That bastard...!

I force my body to comply as it's pressed for more energy.

A second later and he's swallowed by a barrage of void magic, the arcane orbs smashing into his frame, the ground shakes and inmates scatter from the ensuing destruction.

In the aftermath, silence.

My heart is beating three times as fast as it was before.

And adrenaline rush like no other.

The rage dissipates, my hatred falters, and I collapse.

Did I...

Get him...?

Seconds, moments pass. I'm shaken by his resilience, surely this must have been enough.

But I still sense him.

No...

Dread wells up from within my core...

He's...

The smoke is cleared in an instant, he comes after me in a dead sprint, axe in hand.

Before I can react, a heavy blow is brought down on my head, the metal hilt making a sick cracking noise upon contact.

An explosion of pain as I'm knocked back onto the ground, the concussion throwing my vision into disarray.

Hurt, I can only try and crawl to safety, though I can hear the footsteps less than a couple meters away.

A maddened cackle of laughter, he swings the axe head in a crescent, aiming to split me in half.

Instinct throws my body to the side, a desperate roll as the axe embeds itself into the ground inches from where I was.

The screech of metal as he drags the blade back to finish me off.

I will myself to move, nothing but sheer determination drags me to my feet.

The axe passes underneath me as I roll through another swing.

But i'm too tired to continue this any longer.

Another cruel laugh as I hit the ground with a dull thud, no energy left but to meekly crawl away.

This is the end.

I have nothing left.

Left with no other evasive maneuvers I can only grunt in pain as he casually kicks me across the bloodstained prison yard.

The metal boot must have broken a couple ribs in the process, I cough up blood once I hit the ground.

I'm almost blinded by the pain, I can't even scream.

"Geralt...help me...!"

Delirious. I'm delirious.

"...Please..."

The air is cut off and I begin to sputter, through my rapidly clouding vision I realize that he has a steel boot pressed down on my chest, that arrogant sneer glowering down

upon my broken form.

He's toying with me.

"I must admit, you are strong, your magic would have been lethal were it not for my defense..."

No...

I refuse to die here...!

Once again, I feel the rage boil over. Despite my position and the lack of mana, I will my right arm to channel another spell.

"Damn you...!" my eyes glow a bright yellow, the mana once again surging from my body.

With a swift movement, he brings the boot off of my chest and slams it down on my right hand.

Hard.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The pain is blinding, I almost lose consciousness as he crushes the offending limb into nothing more than a mangled set of broken bones and sinew.

I realize that i'm screaming, I've never been in so much pain.

Through the tears, I look over and hopelessly watch him bring his foot off of my now ruined hand.

It's over.

"But you've had your fun, this is the end for you, die worm."

If only I was stronger.

I shut my eyes through both a mixture of pain and grief, cradling my right arm to stop the bleeding.

I've failed.

It looks like I won't be keeping any promises.

Moonlight reflects off of the raised Axe, I know that this is the end.

My life flashes before my eyes, my last thought is of Bandle City.

Home.

The axe cuts into my chest, and I die with my mind full of regrets.

At least...I think I'm dead.

Moments pass, I'm floating in darkness.

Where...where am I?

Death wants to take me, yet the door is being forced shut.

As if someone is willing me back to life.

_Get up kid._

My heart beats.

Once.

Twice.

Get up.

_I said. Get. Up._

My heart beats again.

Once.

Twice.

Get.

Up.

Why can't I move...!

It's agony, my body has sustained too much damage.

"I...I can't!"

_Of course you can, you have a promise to keep._

He's right.

What good is a promise if it isn't fulfilled?

Words, that's all they are otherwise.

No, I can't die here.

Not yet.

I refuse to die here...

I...

"I refuse..."

My left hand wraps around the axe handle and with every ounce of determination, wrench the edge from my chest.

My eyes fly open and he's thrown back in a burst of black magic.

Painfully, slowly, I bring myself to my knees, my consciousness is returning, along with the pain.

A breath, I tuck in my right hand and stand.

The grim reality is that I don't plan on getting out of here alive.

Once this is over, I will succumb to the wounds.

However...

I plan on taking at least one more soul with me to hell.

To end this.

One more spell.

One more...

Simple impact spells like this won't penetrate that shield...his magic resistance is too strong.

It has to be stronger.

Much stronger.

On a scale that no one has ever seen before.

But I'm out of mana.

I've strained my body to it's limits.

Physically, it should be impossible to bring forth enough energy to actually complete what I have in mind.

In fact, it's impossible.

Yet despite this...

_Give him everything you've got._

A grimace as I bring forth my remaining good hand, the charred skin stings as air brushes the sensitive tissue.

I can't afford to give up now, not after everything I've been through tonight.

All mages have a limit, and i'm no different.

However...!

To think that this existence up until now has been pointless, a mockery of who I once was.

I refuse to die like this.

A failure.

I watch him stand, he realizes that something is very wrong.

His eyes widen as I do the impossible...

I'll break through as many limits as I need...

_"I ask you again...why do you wish to join the league?"_

If it means wiping him off the face of this planet.

For once, that stupid grin of his is replaced with a grimace.

The energy levels have risen, my fingers are set ablaze with mana.

But nothing is free.

To think that I would dip into my life reserves twice in one night...

Magic is as deadly to the user as it is to anyone else, if you don't have enough mana to channel the spell, your life force will be used as a substitute.

It's a simple concept of equal exchange, magic is simply a means to an end.

You can do things that are physically impossible, however the energy required will still exact the same amount of energy as if it **were **physically possible.

In other words...

The cost for this spell will be my life.

Despite this, I know I don't have much time.

My body can't take it anymore.

"You're going to destroy yourself over petty revenge...I've underestimated you it seems" He narrows his eyes in amusement...

"But this is as far as you go. Strength above all!" The blurring of movement as he breaks into a sprint, Axe poised for the death blow.

The next one has to end it.

Or everything I've done up to this point would have been in vain.

No.

A meaningless death is worse than anything.

At the very least I bring him down with me.

I see it.

In his eyes.

Fear.

And rightly so.

This is the most powerful spell I can muster...

**I'm going to bring the sky down.**

_Why do you wish to join the league?_

I smile, a twisted visage, a mockery of who I once was.

The Veigar locked away in this prison died long ago.

I'm someone else.

"So... now that the tables have turned..."

All the magic resistance in the world won't save him from this.

"I will show you..."

Time seems to slow, he knows the distance is too great, he isn't going to reach me in time.

"NO MERCY!"

And with that, I complete the spell, and the stars wink out as I bring my arms down, completely spent.

One by one.

A rift in the sky opens, and it falls.

Pure, dark matter.

A twisting silhouette of black energy makes its way down from the the sky.

Even in the black of night, an eerie glow envelopes the falling meteor, a deadly calm as I watch our impending doom.

All fighting has stopped, attention now focused on the rapidly approaching comet.

The glow shifts to flame as it pushes through the atmosphere.

"You fool, you have no idea what you've done!"

In his rage, the brute turns to me and swings his Axe.

However, I've fallen from exhaustion and it passes over my head harmlessly.

I fall onto my back, and for the first time I get to rest.

And as the meteor bears down upon us all, I close my eyes, seemingly for the last time as the spell takes it's toll on my body.

* * *

><p><em>How does it feel having your mind exposed?<em>

"..."

It's been years.

Almost as if I were a different person.

Even so, the memories flash by vividly, I can recall every detail, every little moment in time.

I recall him.

I recall the meteor.

And I recall the will to live.

Forcing my way out of the rubble, clawing through with bloody fingers despite all the damage done.

And I recall making my way out of that hell hole.

The hat obscures my features, the dark purple robes seem grandiose and overdone.

It conveys a sense of evil.

More importantly...

It hides the scars, a memento of who I once was.

I flex my right hand, the metal gauntlet hides the mangled limb within.

Hideous, I can't even bear to look back at the reflection as my younger self stares back with wide eyes.

"I feel no different, your probing does not effect me."

In truth, I was terrified.

To relive something like that so vividly.

To see him again...

Another pause, as if they were considering my answer.

_A small question, why did you choose to stay-_

"Is that a short joke...?!" I say through grit teeth, eyes narrowing in the darkness.

They're making fun of me.

All of them.

The room is completely black. Fortunate, or I would not have hesitated to strike them down here and now for such an impudent comment.

Silence.

Selflessness is for the weak, I was a fool for turning back.

It almost cost me my life.

Yet despite logic, I would have done it again.

And again.

I remember that rage. The rage of losing someone dear to you.

Anguish, grief.

And I remember choosing to walk a path of solitude.

It's the closest ones that inflict the deepest wounds.

I have no need for friends anymore.

So why...why do I keep running that scenario in my head?

It always ends the same, I can't save him.

Yet...

_In the end, you did unspeakable, horrible things to survive. You summoned a meteor that killed hundreds of people in that prison. Why?_

This shocked me.

"What do you mean...?!"

_If you have truly forsaken your humanity, can you at least justify your actions?_

What do they mean?

Surely, the answer was obvious.

"It was me or them, there could be no other alternative."

_Yet you believed your life was worth more than the hundreds-_

"I had no other choice!"

Yet I feel something.

Remorse.

Why?

The answer is lost to me.

Perhaps I am more sentimental than I thought.

Pah, impossible.

There is no use for such emotion.

I will bend this world by the knee and have it acknowledge my presence...

A breath, I realize that a minute has passed without an answer.

That silence, I feel as if they are scrutinizing my every move.

I grip the staff protectively, ready for an attack at any moment.

In truth, I know why...

He told me, long ago.

I did what was necessary to survive.

Because I was pushed to the brink.

When your back is against the wall, the only thing you can do is fight.

And with that, I hear those words.

Those fateful words.

As the doors begin to slide open, light spills through the stone crevice, illuminating the hall I now realize I'm standing in.

It's grand.

A place where I can prove my worth to the world.

My strength.

And my ideals.

_Welcome to the League of Legends_


End file.
